


seek to find (starting on the road home)

by chuchisushi



Series: Pathbreaking [2]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, M/M, Minor Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuchisushi/pseuds/chuchisushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hood Dresden's life doesn't get easier after he returns from the Woods: the Hoods have accused him of breaking internal law by distributing Three Eye and threatening their neutrality, placing him on probation--and if Hood Morgan's evidence stacks right, he'll lose his head! </p><p>But Harry's not one to wait quietly for a verdict, even if his judge is a specter from the past with his own agenda: a series of gruesome, black-magic-fueled murders, the Wolfshead Baron, and missing kids are more than enough to keep him busy. And when facts start lining up, it becomes a race against time--not just for his own neck, but also for the lives of two innocents caught in the crossfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay, but here's the sequel to [hunter, hunted]--events in this story will probably make more sense if you read that one before this one. :'D This fic primarily covers the events of Storm Front (though there's mentions of characters introduced in Fool Moon).
> 
> Coincidentally, the first chapter of this is posted on a night with a partial lunar eclipse of the Hunter's Moon! Fitting, hm?

I know it’s going to be a rough day when I get woken up by the phone.

I blearily, honestly, debate covering my head with my pillow and hexing the noise into submission but remember that I’d be down one working phone that I needed. I contemplate doing it anyway; it’s a great representation of how far I’ve come in my adult life that it only takes me half a minute to regretfully reject the idea and stumble out of my warm bed into the apartment proper to answer the call (aggravated grumbling aside).

“‘lo?”

“Dresden? Oh, I guess I woke you up. This is Lily.” He pauses, during which I hear distantly over the line ‘Stop being a mornin’ person at him, petal’, followed by ‘Ignore his disgusting cheerfulness, Harry’ louder.

“Morning, Johnny,” I manage.

“He says go start the coffeemaker. Anyway, Harry--you delivered a package across town earlier this week, right?”

“Mhm?” My phone cord is juuuust long enough for me to reach the kettle and stove; I shove the receiver under my jaw and add, “What about it?” as I fill the kettle at the sink. Mmm, future coffee.

“Have you heard of Three Eye?”

It takes me a moment to switch gears. “That new drug out? I’ve heard it mentioned--”

“The package you delivered was full of it.” Lily genuinely sounds apologetic, but it doesn’t stop me from dropping the kettle _into_ the sink at his next words. "Someone tipped the White Hoods off about it afterwards. You’re under probation and pending investigation.”

“Fuck.” Well, I’m certainly awake now. I fumble for a chair and collapse into it, mind racing over the sudden situation and my options. “Lily--wait, who’s coming to investi--it’s not Morgan, is it?”

I can hear the grimace on his face. “It’s Morgan.”

“ _Fuck_.” I groan and run a hand over my face and hair. Info, I need more info. “What’s the charge?”

“Dealing in goods that would attract mortal attention, slash participating in mortal criminal activities: it would break the nondiscussion law with outsiders who don’t already know about magic. Three Eye’s under scrutiny by the CPD right now.” I groan louder, and Lily’s voice gets even more apologetic. “There’s something else, too.”

“What, I’m under house arrest?”

“No, but you might be once Morgan shows up." That makes me sit up in my chair, alarmed. "Harry, I looked into the stuff after I got the alert for your change in status… and you’re not gonna like this, but… Three Eye actually works.”

“ _What?_ It--it actually opens up the Third Eye? You’re serious?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately. And the stuff stinks. Spiritually reeks--I’m not surprised civilians are going crazy on it. It’s tainted. Needs to be burned to purify it.”

The implication hits me like a bus, and I grit my teeth. “It’s made with black magic isn't it.” This just keeps getting better and better.

“Has to be.” Johnny clicks onto another line. I spare a moment to wonder how the hell the call hadn’t given out between the three of us. Hoods tend to be hard on technology--the older it is, the longer it lives. It’s not for no reason I still use a landline off of a rotary receiver that looks like it’d survived the World Wars by dint of being tougher than all of Europe’s armies. “Stuff’s _wrong._ You know those goods you get sometime that jes feel _slimy_ even under their wards? S’like that.” He takes a sip of what’s probably coffee. I’m jealous. “Package you had was heavily shielded, no return address, anonymously delivered to the distributing center, paid in cash. Nothing to track it back to the supplier either physically or magically. Shit like that’s standard enough for us, but it leaves the deliverer vulnerable. With the heavy-duty concealing spells like that thing had, though, there’s no way the Three Eye producer’s not involved and covering their tracks. _We_ know yer innocent, but it looks mighty suspicious from the White’s perspective.”

“My recruitment campaign doesn’t help either.” I had a giant strike against me because I’d used black magic before (even if it _had_ been in self-defense); if Lily had been able to tell that Three Eye had been made with black magic, Morgan could, too. And if he felt so inclined (which he would; Morgan hated my guts for not being executed over Du Morne’s death), he could report that I’d been intentionally distributing Three Eye; I would bet the coffee I wasn't having that my deliveries in the past month were being scrutinized right this second, being combed through for any hint of previous similar deliveries. Not to mention the possibility that I was delivering off the Hoods' books.

That I was innocent and had had no idea what was in the package I’d dropped off uptown didn’t matter; my testimony wouldn’t be trusted. I push down my rising anger as a thought occurs to me: Lily didn’t have to call me. He could have sent an impersonal offical message. Neither of them had to explain why I was on probation. In fact, the warning about Three Eye being made with black magic (and there wasn’t any doubt about it; that it had been mentioned at all was a warning) shouldn’t have been passed on to me; if calling me and telling me the circumstances of the probation was bending the rules, the warning was pressing them to the splintering point. Therefore…

“Lily. Johnny. What’re you trying to say? Spit it out already.”

There’s a long pause from the other end, long enough for me to wonder if the call had dropped, giving up the ghost with all of us, before Lily chuckles ruefully. “Direct as always, huh Harry?” He hesitates, picks over his next words carefully. “Obviously, this needs to be looked into. We can’t tolerate black magic in Chicago--it’s our territory, too. But we can’t interfere in a pending investigation, and the White have declared the entire Three Eye situation hands off because of this case. They’d expect to cut the snake off at the head with your conviction, thinking you’re the distributor once black magic comes into the picture, but the three of us know it’s not you. That leaves the real black magic user out there, invisible to the Hoods.”

“And? What can I do about it? Morgan will take me into custody the second he gets into town.”

“Not if you get taken in by a higher power." I make a protesting noise. "Hush and listen, Harry. In situations like this, Johnny and I would be out there, looking for this punk with some people we know. Said people specialize in dealing with black magic and minimizing the fallout from stuff like this. They’re independently Accorded, even--but we’ve been cut out because of the ban.”

It takes a beat, but--“You want me to act in your stead. With them. Since I'm off the books right now.”

“Yeah. Uh, basically. Sorry. Calling in a favor?”

I sigh into the line, and it finally breaks into background static with my growing headache. “It’s fine. I would have been looking for this guy anyway. At least I get some help this way. You’re _sure_ they’ll be able to keep Morgan off my back?”

“Yeah, definitely. They’d have been called in anyway and deferred to, once the black came into the picture, but this way we’ll get a kickstart on the situation that works in our favor. And, hopefully, that gets things resolved sooner with a minimum of rolling heads.”

I spare a moment to boggle at the fact that Lily and Johnny know people powerful enough to be Accorded and a big enough threat for it to be a guarantee of Morgan standing down because of them, then shake it off. “Get me in contact with them. We can figure out where to start then--when’s Morgan getting here?”

“At the speed he walks? Early this evening, tonight if he gets held up.”

I grimace, baring my teeth. “Not a lot of leeway there, Lily. Can your people get here fast enough to beat Morgan?”

“Yeah. No worries on that front; they’re punctual.”

I sigh but keep my doubts to myself, deciding to extend a little trust. “Okay. Is that it?”

“Yep. Chin up, sug’. If anyone can find the real bad guy, it’s them. And sorry for waking you up.”

“Thanks, guys. For the heads up and the help.”

We hang up before the call can die in an untimely manner; I sit in my chair for a few more minutes, sloshing around the unfocused anger in my head at the person who’d set me up, the White, and Morgan, before groaning and rubbing at my eyes.

Hell’s bells. I would have liked for my intuition to have been wrong that time.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time I’ve made coffee and eaten a few handfuls of dry Cheerios standing at the kitchen counter, Lily’s gotten his contacts’ info to me; an origami flower grows, blooms, and drops off its paper stem onto my kitchen table-cum-desk as I watch.

I amble over to unfold it, exposing a phone number and the phrase ‘lorem ipsum’. I consider it, then decide to consult another source first.

The line rings twice before being picked up. “Lieutenant Murphy.”

She doesn't sound too harrassed yet; lucky me. “Hey Murph. You wanna do lunch?”

Surprise suffuses her voice. “Harry? Jesus, I thought you’d still be asleep.”

I scowl. “Hey, just because I like to sleep in after I wrap up a job--"

She snickers at my expense, and I can feel a small smile worming its way onto my face. “Yeah yeah, Princess Aurora. Noon sharp? That dinky little pub you like?”

“Sounds good.”

“Great. Now stop calling me at work to set up dates.”

“Love you too, Murph,” I reply, as saccharine as I can make it. She jokingly gags, and I snort. “Thanks. See you then.”

She hangs up on me, and the exchange has managed to bring a real grin to my face. More than a year ago, Murphy probably would have rejected the lunch on principle or shown up with handcuffs and an extra helping of suspicion, but being honest with her had done wonders. Considering what I'm facing with the Hoods right now, the reminder that another person trusts me is reassuring.

I try to hold onto the sense of cheer; I’m going to need it for the next bit. Downing the last of my coffee, I go to shave and change into real people clothes, shrugging on my duster and grabbing my staff, pointing the end at the air in front of my fireplace and pushing gently at the thin divide between worlds. Add a little will, and I feel my pupils widen to flood my eyes with dark as I reach for the Woods, slipping through this reality into a bordering one and landing in the perpetual spattering of leaf litter that covers the ground of the clearing at the heart of the Wolfshead Baron’s territory.

John twists in his chair at the sound of my entrance, looks over and around its massive, thronelike bulk to spot me.

“Ah. Good… morning, Harry. I assume it’s morning by the way you’re half-awake and smell like coffee.”

“I’ve been put on probation,” I cheerfully reply, taking a vicious sort of pleasure in the way John stiffens in his chair as I stalk around the chair to lean on his desk, leather armor creaking with the motion. “Tell me what you’ve seen about Three Eye down here so my head and neck don’t have to part ways.”

See, the Woods are more than a plane of existence close to ours; they’re also more than half metaphorical, the literal representation of humanity’s collected fear and wonder of boundaries, the deep unknown of forests, and all that live in it. Our legends, our stories, our expectations fuel it, made it a reality in the malleable space outside the mortal plane, and it’s populated by the monsters that live in the dark and predators from ages past. In the Woods, metaphor and belief make reality: a pack of wolves are rustling noises in the gloom, the glint of eyes and flashing teeth, mournful howls carried on the wind, and swift, felling strikes from their shadow-shapes; the leather duster I wear, enchanted with tattooed spells and runes until it’s as strong as armor, is literal armor here, covering my weaknesses from neck to calf; the unremovable twist of faded, pinkish cloth tied loose around the base of my neck is a literal collar and chain, sprouting out my Red Hood and cloak for the job, the hems of the draping blood-bright cloth embroidered with a scarlet pattern of interlocking links. There’s safe ways to travel in the Woods, trails beaten into the ground in the mortal plane represented by the Path and the Ways that pepper the landscape here, swisscheesing the mortal plane, the Woods, and the Nevernever.

And there’s lost people who never came back.

John tripped into the Woods about years ago, slipped through the cracks in the worlds and down the rabbit hole to land here in this place of perpetual night and hungry reality; he’d never left, never found his way out, and instead became something that haunted the trees, howling for the hunt, one more wolf amongst many.

But unlike the others, he retained enough of himself, enough of that fierce, ruthless core already inherent in him, to fight his way to the top, carve out his own territory and make his own name. Now the Wolfshead Baron rules with an iron fist over a tract of land in the Woods the metaphorical breadth of Chicago itself, reinforcing his power with tooth and claw.

It was less the Woods changing him than the Woods making his exterior match his interior. In any case, there was probably a good reason his throne room was less a room than a clearing with just a power executive’s desk and a chair that was large enough to be a throne in it, but hell if I was going to find out why.

I’d gotten lost, too. Four months ago, a delivery went south, brought me under fire from the Red Court in Gentleman Johnny’s territory, and John had taken me off the Path to save my life. I still wasn’t sure if I should be appreciative or not. The Woods had claimed me but didn’t have me yet, and I was going to keep it that way if I had anything to say about it. Chicago was my home, my city. I wasn’t going to leave it defenseless to go run off into the trees.

Anyway. Like I said, the Woods that was John’s territory was roughly the imprint of Chicago on the Woods; theoretically speaking, anything affecting the city would leave some sort of mark down here.

“Three Eye.” The only other indication of his surprise is the slow, lazy blink he gives me, like a cat in the sun. Then he shakes his head, and I feel my obnoxious smile turn into a scowl. “The name is not familiar to me. What does it do? And what does it have to do with your status amongst the Hoods and your threat of execution?”

Damn. And here I was thinking it’d be easy. I avoid the look John’s trying to pin me with, looking away and scratching my nose instead. “Three Eye’s a drug that’s hit the streets in Chicago. Rumored to open up the Third Eye, the Sight--I’d waved it off as bogus, but sources say that it’s real and does what it says on the package. And that the crap’s made with black magic. Last week, I unwittingly delivered a case of it to a guy I guess was a pusher. Someone called it in, brought it to the attention of the White Hoods; they’re sending in a Grey to investigate me and figure out if I did it deliberately.”

“Ah. And your head?”

“The Grey they’re sending has a chip on his shoulder the size of Arkansas for me,” I grumble. “This is the excuse the higher ups have been looking for for years to get rid of me. I’m not exactly trusted amongst them.” I frown and look at John. “Which I’m sure you know already, given the size of the security dossiers Gard leaves for you.” I pat the top of the one I’m currently sitting on, and it makes a thudding noise like hitting a block of solid wood instead of reams of paper. “So why did you ask?”

“Your atypical honesty is refreshing.” He grins at my protesting yelp, a wicked expression that shows me sharp canines.

I mutter some disparaging words under my breath at his payback, then look around the clearing. “Where are Cujo and Gard anyway? They’re usually glued to you like flypaper.”

“ _Mister Hendricks_ and Miss Gard have the rest of the afternoon off as I was merely intending to work on bureaucratic matters.”

I blink down at him, my curiosity about how time was kept down here overruled by my astonishment. “You have to deal with politics even down here?”

“It’s an unfortunately universal plague.”

I wrinkle my nose and hop off his desk. “Right. I’ll leave you to your machinations then. If anything weird crops up, let me know; you know where to find me.”

John’s eyes track my movement as I stroll back to the Way. “Of course, Harry.”

“It’s Mister Dresden, fleabag.”

His chuckle follows me back out into the mortal world.

\--

So the Woods is a bust. I leave my boots in front of the fire, feed Mister, my massive cat, when he deigns to come down from the bookshelf he’d been roosting on, and go to call the number Lily had left me.

The phone rings four times before there’s the hollow click of someone picking up; I wait for them to acknowledge me and get eerie, oddly heavy silence in my ear instead, silence that’s somehow… waiting. Anticipatory. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I say, “Hello? Anyone there?” into the receiver before tentatively trying, “... lorem ipsum?”

There’s a thoughtful sort of continuing pause before the line clicks again and, incongruously, elevator music comes on.

I blink. Was that--am I on _hold?_ Seriously??

Before I can work my way into real annoyance and burn away the lingering uneasiness, someone picks up.

“Yes?” The voice is male, resonantly smooth in a way that manages to miss being unctuous and condescending by a hairsbreadth, and flatly calm. It’s also nigglingly familiar. “What is it that you require?”

“Uh--” I fumble the phone, setting down the former flower. “Lily told me to call? Leonard? To get in contact about the stuff happening in Chicago?”

There’s a pause, then, “You must be Hood Dresden. Very well--shall we meet in neutral territory, then? Let’s say… three PM today?”

“Tod--”

“Yes, today. I’d assumed this was a matter of importance to you, Mister Dresden, as Lily was willing to give you my contact and passcode specifically, but if it’s not...”

I decide right then and there that I don’t really like this guy and don’t make an effort to keep my temper out of my voice. “No, it is. Three’s fine.”

“Very well. Until then.”

He hangs up just like that, and I resist the urge to grind my teeth, carefully setting the receiver down instead. Looks like it was going to be a busy day for me. Great.

I glance at the clock. One last place to stop by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification, since I realized I edited out the line where Lily says it directly, the Hoods don't deal with black magic. In the words of a certain, fictional, silver-haired DI, it's not their division; instead, there's a separate organization that resembles the White Council whose job it is. I won't say any more about it here, though, since it gets covered in a later chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

I started doing work with Nick Christian a few months after settling in Chicago. Delivery as a Red Hood brings in most of my money (being paid on commission is good for that, with bonuses depending on the level of danger of the route, good, and how fast I travel), but sometimes I supplement my income through Nick’s work.

Plus, it helped me find lost kids. That wasn’t something I could just turn my back on.

Nick runs Ragged Angel Investigations out of an office in midtown; I take the stairs up since the elevator is on the fritz again and open the office door after a cursory knock. There’s two desks inside--one’s mine and is usually used as Nick’s storage space for paperwork and at the other is Nick himself, with a well-dressed lady sitting across from him.

Both look up as I walk in, and I nod at the woman as I cross the floor to sit down at my own desk, leaning my walking staff against it.

“Mrs Sells, this is my partner, Harry Dresden.” I smile as reassuringly as I can at Mrs Sells and take in her appearance--her eyes are red-rimmed with shadows underneath, but there’s no tissue or handkerchief in her hands; her clothes are rumpled from travel or from the previous day but neat and expensive otherwise; her expression is stoic. And maybe a little despairing. With her apparent money (judging from her outfit), she probably could have gone to a private detective or a better business, hired someone, but she’s here--exhausting all possibilities, maybe?

Nick pretends like I don’t exist after my introduction, and I fiddle with some of the paper on the desk to complete the illusion, flipping through copies of police reports and printouts as though I’m shuffling notes, shamelessly eavesdropping on the tail end of Nick and Mrs Sells’ conversation as I do.

“And that’s all you can think of?”

“Yes.”

Nick shuffles some papers of his own, then says, “Alright, Mrs Sells; I’ll start looking into it. Like I said, if you could get us something of theirs, a picture book they loved, a favorite shirt, something like that, I’d appreciate it--it’ll give us some information about the kids.”

“And you’ll return it once your investigation is concluded?”

“Yes, of course.”

I hear rustling cloth as though she’s gathering her things or steeling herself to face the world again. “Very well. I’ll come back tomorrow then.”

“If you think of anything else before that, please call--you have my card.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

I wait until the door’s closed behind her and I hear her starting down the stairs to pop my head up and blink at Nick, eyes wide.

“Knock off the innocent look, Dresden; I ain’t buying what you’re selling,” Nick growls at me. “I’ve got four kids I pulled off the police--they’re cold by now, but they’ve got old blood samples, some toys, things like that. Go look fer them first, _then_ I’ll tell you about the Sells. Reports are in the pile with the green rubberband--no, not that one. Not that one. That one.”

I pick up the pile of paper I'd been pointing at, precariously wrapped in a battered manila folder, and heft it in my hands. “The bits and bobs?”

“Police evidence--contact’s name and hours are on the sticky note. Now get out of here before you make anyone else suspicious; I keep telling him to lose the coat and stick but does he listen--”

I wave bye to Nick as he continues to grumble at me, turning in his swivel chair to pin up another picture to the corkboard behind his desk. I recognize the girl in it, a cheerfully blond thing with curly hair I’d fished out of the Nevernever a week ago. Guess her parents had welcomed her back, making her one more found child to add to the ones already on the board, the pictures numbering maybe a handful less than twenty.

Nick was good people. When I’d started working for him, he’d been suspicious of me, my duster, my walking staff, my lack of a cellphone or credit card--but once I'd found the first kid he’d been about to give up on, using the boy’s favorite toy train to track him, he’d loosened up. When I started taking on his cold cases and coming up with results--verifiable results--he’d actively started helping. He didn’t know a thing about magic, didn’t want to (as he’d said one time, “I don’t want to know how you do it, Dresden--just keep doing it”), but saved those cases for me that he’d not had any luck on with his skillset and contacts. He ran the reputable half of the business, the face that most people saw, and I worked on the underbelly, but that was fine. People tended to trust Nick more than me, for some reason that I was absolutely sure didn’t have to do with me being an over-six-feet-tall duster-wearing big-stick-carrying beanpole. Tracking down missing kids from police reports was sort of a side project for both of us; even though it took time away from the cases that brought in real money, neither of us begrudged it. The chance of finding someone or giving the family closure was more than enough payment.

Anyway. I was going to have to fight lunchtime traffic if I was going to make it to Mac’s on time to meet with Murphy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may end up updating twice today :"D These three sections are a little difficult to separate well so it may be for the best.


	4. Chapter 4

The Lieutenant’s already sitting at a table by the time I descend the stairs in McAnally’s, resisting the urge (like I always do), to duck my head to avoid the lazily rotating ceiling fans.

Mac’s is set up for people like me--a watering hole of sorts for those with power; everything’s arranged to disperse and neutralize most of the excess energy people of my caliber have hanging around them. Thirteen wooden tables are scattered over the wooden floor, the ceiling and its fans supported by thirteen irregularly spaced wooden columns carved with mythical creatures and scenes from fairy tales. Mac himself stands behind the bar and its thirteen stools, a stainless, white apron around his waist and a wood-burning grill at his back; he catches my eye and nods at me as I come in. That’s about as much conversation as he makes; bald, aged anywhere between thirty and fifty, and silent unless absolutely necessary, Mac takes the ‘strong and silent’ archetype to serious lengths. And, most importantly of all, a little, unadorned plaque hangs from the wall next to the stairs. The words on it proclaim, simply, ‘Accorded Neutral Ground.’

You don’t bring fights into Mac’s. You leave your alliances at the door. Be civil within his walls, and Mac’ll sell you the best beer, fries, and steak sandwiches you’ve ever had. Otherwise, he’ll take offense. And I’ve never seen him mad, but it’s not something I ever _want_ to experience.

“I ordered for you,” Murph remarks as I plop down the massive pile of paper onto the free space at the table. Her eyes light up with steely interest when she spots them, and she licks her fingers clean to pull the top packet out from under the rubberband. “Nick give you more kids to look for?”

Murphy and I met on a case like these way back when she was just a baby beat cop and I was beginning to get settled in the city. It had involved a troll. Luckily, most of our meetings after that had been less violent. Most of them.

Nowadays, Murphy runs SI--Special Investigations, the department through which CPD’s finest usually cycle when it becomes too inconvenient for them to be fired. A lot of good, honest cops who refuse to look the other way when Marco Vargassi and his goon tear up the streets end up there. So do a lot of bad cops. Most of both end up quitting before long.

See, SI is the place where they dump all the crappy and just plain weird cases--dog fighting rings, disturbing the peace, a Red Court vampire shredding a homeless man, a kelpie drowning an athletic swimmer in the lake, a pack of wolves from the Woods roaming the streets--it’s their job to come up with some nice, neat explanation that doesn’t challenge anyone’s perceived boundaries of reality, regardless of what actually happened.

Murphy managed to defy expectations in a massive ‘fuck you’ to upper level management by turning SI into a legitimate department that closed a reasonable number of said cases, primarily by way of consulting little old me when things get hairy. (She’d tracked me down herself after our first meeting and basically bullied me into it. I couldn’t say I regretted it, but I do regret the teeth I chipped when I’d tried to run.) I couldn’t be there consistently with Red Hood business to reliably protect her myself--so I did the next best thing and built her a fortress of _information_ via a standing invitation into my apartment, an amulet to get past my wards, and free access to my lab assistant, provided she bought him romance novels herself if he was being uppity.

… that last sentence isn’t as weird as it sounds. My lab assistant is a spirit of air and intellect, bound to a very old, very real human skull. His name’s Bob. He’s also the biggest lech I’ve ever me, and I’ve found _satyrs_  in the Nevernever. Bribing him into answering questions sometimes requires acquiring some appropriately trashy novels or a Playboy magazine. Bob’s ordered to listen and obey directions from Murphy. _She’s_ bound only by her promise to not actually smash Bob’s skull. I get the impression she’s come close before.

“Yeah; I think he’s still mad at me for accidentally disappearing for that week.”

“Forget Nick; _I’m_ still mad at you for disappearing for that week.” Her mouth is straight, but her eyes twinkle with amusement; she flips a page and nods toward the bar counter. “Your food’s up.”

I bring my plate and bottle of beer back to the table and open the top with the edge of one of my force rings. Murphy’s set down the packet at this point and waves the sticky note from it at me.

“How about I get these for you. Dave still hasn’t forgiven you for last time.”

I wince “Hey, I didn’t know it’d catch on fire, okay. I returned what was left and it was a cold case that I closed anyway.”

“He’s particular about it; you know how he is.”

I sigh but acquiesce. The last thing I need is for my day to include a pissed-off evidence locker clerk. “Fine. Bring them by after work?”

Murph quirks a blond eyebrow up at me. “Not waiting on the sidewalk?”

“Can’t. Meeting up with someone after this.”

She catches the discomfort in my voice, and her eyes narrow, hand with the sticky note lowering back down to the table. “Explain.”

I take another bite of sandwich instead, chewing and swallowing before I speak. “‘S what I wanted to ask you about--what can you tell me about Three Eye?”

She still looks interrogative, but a hint of curiosity enters the furrow of her brows. “... On the record? It’s a drug like everything else out there. It’s competing against what Vargassi and his boys distribute. It’s extremely addictive. Some people have gone nuts on it--hallucinations, property damage, assault--but nothing extraordinary.” She flicks her eyes down to the papers between us, the aggression fading. “Off the record?  Addicts are getting brought in ranting about the shit they’re seeing, but…” She shrugs her shoulders. “It’s not been anything especially strange. Not like they’re all saying the same thing. Why?”

“I got a tip from a friend that it’s more than it seems like. Actually does open up the--” I tap my forehead with a knuckle, indicating the head chakra and the place that flexes when I use my Sight. Murphy’s eyes go a little wide with astonishment, getting the reference. “Dangerous stuff--and, worse, it’s got the touch of the black around it. That’s who I’m meeting with: someone who specializes in dealing with that crap.”

“My consultant is consulting a consultant.” Her tone is light, but her eyes are worried.

I wrinkle my nose at her. “Not exactly… from the impression I got, it’s more like I’m alerting the authorities.”

“Are you going to disappear for a solid week again?”

“Stars and stones, I hope not,” I reply fervently.

Murph nods and sits back, not happy, but satisfied. “Update me if it looks like it’s going to fall back under my jurisdiction; I’ll find some people to help.”

I push down my first instinct to refuse the help, not wanting to endanger anyone else, and make myself nod.

\--

Murph leaves for the precinct after lunch, taking my sticky note with her; I order another beer and start digging into the packets Nick’s given me while I wait for Lily’s contact. People filter out of the place, leaving bit by bit as lunch ends, until it’s just Mac and me.

At three PM sharp, the door opens; Mac and my attention snap to it and we both watch as a man carefully descends the steps, one hand gripping the railing firmly. He’s small, maybe five foot eight and built gracefully thin, all long musician’s fingers, slender wrists, and proportionally long legs. His hair’s a dark, dark brown, almost black, cropped evenly shortish all around his head and doused with a few handfuls of white. The eyes that scan the bar are sharp and green, the color of dark forest depths, and his pale complexion, I note, might be less from an inclination to not go into the sun than an inability to; his skin’s stretched tight over aristocratic cheekbones and faintly sickly, blue veins standing out against it. Poor health maybe? The wine-colored silk shirt and black pants he’s wearing fit him extremely well though, hiding any other physical evidence of it in a way that only really comes from bespoke clothing, and seem correspondingly expensive; his bearing is regal and authoritative, with the sort of confidence people get from being used to being obeyed.

His eyes land on me. “Hood Dresden, I presume?” The voice is the same as the one over the phone; I nod at him as he weaves through the columns, half expecting a handshake when he reaches the table.

Instead, I get a small bow, a tiny, perfectly brisk inclination of his upper body at me before he sits. I fight to keep my eyebrows from rising.

“Do you want anything?” I ask instead. “Mac brews a good beer--”

“Yes, I remember. Thank you, but no.” He makes a fussy little movement, straightening the cuffs of his shirt before linking his fingers together on top of the table. “You may call me Stephan Kingston. I’m a senior member of AD Infinitum.” He tilts his head at me, expression cool, and his next words drain the blood from my face.

“I was present at your trial.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More notes, this time about the AU in general! In Files canon, Harry spent 3yrs working for Nick and opened his business afterwards; it was about 2yrs old by Storm Front. His and Murphy's relationship doesn't improve until the 3rd book, and the time between his trial and Storm Front is over 5yrs.
> 
> In Pathbreaking AU, it's been 7yrs since Harry's trial and about 1-2yrs since Marcone disappeared. Harry has his PI license but never stopped working for Nick, instead partnering with him at Ragged Angel to keep in that work; Harry started as a Red Hood right after he came out of training with Eb. Due to the wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey nature of traveling the Nevernever and Woods so much, Harry couldn't become the consistent force in Chicago that he is in Files canon (which is why he's not so notorious despite being near the firepower of the later books in Files); instead, the title of Chicago's protector is spread out between him, Lily, and Johnny (the latter two because they're constantly stationed in Chicago). Said chronoinstability is also why Murphy is not jabbing at him every time something spooky jumps in Chicago; their relationship's progressed much faster than it did in Files canon due to Harry trusting her and giving her information for informed decisions much sooner (over a year ago, approximately). 
> 
> AD Infinitum is actually pronounced A.D. Infinitum (like the timekeeping/calender system) and is a several-levels self-referential stealth pun the same way Monoc Inc is because Stephan is a scholarly jerk that way. The punny/reference part comes in a later chapter :"D
> 
> /squeaks, apologies about the length of this note (and for the wee cliffhanger)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive apologies for the delay in updating and leaving you all on that cliffhanger! I'm updating with two chapters today in recompense, since this one ends on a bit of an ambiguous note as well.

“Though you may not remember,” he adds calmly, utterly dispassionate as I try to control my face, hide my fear. I realize why I’d recognized his voice and had instinctively disliked it: I remember the muffled, heavy way the black hood over my head had felt, the sound of my ragged breathing loud and panicked in my own ears, how cold I’d been and how terrified I’d felt, Du Morne’s blood dried tacky on my hands and forearms bound behind my back, as a calm, detached voice said evenly, “He is marked by black magic; that is obvious enough to see. However, I believe he is... salvageable.”

“You were the judge,” I manage after long moments, staring at the same man sitting across from me, seven years after that black, rainy night.

“I was. That is one of the services ADI provides.”

I fumble for my beer and take a gulp, then another as I try to rack my brain for what I knew of ADI around the still-present panic. “We… don’t deal with you guys very much.”

“It’s true. The Hoods have a very strict internal security that typically covers any situation in which ADI would need to intervene. Save, of course, for situations like yours, where an outside, unbiased party is required to provide judgement.” He’s still staring at me, as if trying to put his finger on something. It’s unnerving. “If Hood McCoy had not agreed to take you in, it would have fallen to a vote of whether or not to execute you, with I as the tiebreaker if it became necessary.”

“You guys enforce the Laws of Magic.”

“Correct.”

“The Wardens are yours.”

“Also correct.”

“How the _hell_ does Lily know you if he’s a Hood?”

His eyes snap up to mine and lock for an instant, then flick away before a soulgaze can begin. “Not all of those with magical ability become Hoods. Many are simply not strong enough. Others do not wish for violence, comfortable in their lives. Not everyone is a soldier, Hood Dresden, and for those that aren’t, there we are. Lily became part of ADI before he became a Hood. _Johnny_ became a Hood before he was a member of ADI.” He pauses delicately. “Hood McCoy became part of ADI _and_ the Hoods at approximately the same time.”

I blink, surprised, fear and anger temporarily dispelled. “ _Eb_?”

“Indeed.” Stephan closes his eyes for a moment and then straightens; I echo the movement unconsciously, sensing a change in the mood. “I will be conducting an independent investigation of sorts into the matter of the Three Eye. Its traces are quite common within the city; it’s obvious from them that black magic was involved at some point.

“I’m also given to understand that you are under probation?” He continues at my nod. “For distributing Three Eye, as Lily communicated to me. Very well; you are under my custody as of now, until I surrender you of my own free will into the custody of another or until the investigation is concluded.” He lifts a hand and sketches a few runes in midair, lines of silvery light trailing from his fingertip, and gestures them at me; they dissolve into smoke and splash across my face and neck as I resist the urge to flinch. I don’t feel any different afterwards, and I’m not sure if I should be impressed or scared that I don’t. Binding spells and _geas_ can be tricky, even with the theoretical stability added by using runes.

Stephan continues to speak. “As the Ways available to the Hoods are closed to you due to your probationary status, I would suggest using the Ways through the Woods if you need to travel during this time, as you are now able to.”

I twitch in badly-concealed surprise--he knows about going off the Path? “How… did Lily tell you?” I was going to kill him if he had; the last thing I wanted was for one of the big shots of some weirdly nebulous organization to realize I had a connection I wasn’t supposed to have with John. And the Woods itself, I suppose.

For the first time this entire conversation, Stephan expresses an emotion that’s not detached professionalism or wry amusement: his lips curve up in a lopsided smile and he laughs quietly. “I suppose you wouldn’t know. It’s quite obvious for those who know how to look; I forget you’re young yet. Neverthless, it’s good to see another buck around, even if you’re already attached to a territory.” He inclines his head in the shallowest of nods, and for a breathless moment the outline of a _massive_ rack of antlers presses against the fabric of reality above his head, his eyes flickering from green into drowning pools of animalistic black, here and then gone again, blink and you’d miss it, as he raises his chin back up. I shiver and resist the urge to cover the freckles on my face. “The Wolfshead Baron scored quite the prize when he gained your fealty. I’m sure he will be quite appreciative of the new Ways you’ll make.”

What? “ _What--_?”

The door slams open, cutting off my words, and all three of us snap our eyes to it.

There's a long pause before a Grey Hooded figure clomps down the stairs with heavy steps, a gnarled walking staff in one hand and a tracking spell in the other. Morgan pushes back the Hood when his eyes meet mine across the expanse of Mac’s floor, and I inhale and jerk up my head, breaking the gaze even as I set my jaw stubbornly.

“Harry Dresden. By the power placed in me by the White Hoods, I hereby officially declare you under probation. Surrender yourself into my custody until the completion of the Hoods’ investigation, or face the consequences of resistance.”

Well, crap. Dammit Morgan, couldn’t you have walked a little _slower_?


	6. Chapter 6

Slowly, I stand, holding my open hands out at my sides. I can’t help but think through my options as I smile falsely and too sweetly at the Grey Hood; my chances of escape aren’t looking too great at the moment, so I endeavor to be as annoyingly saccharine as possible instead. “Hi Morgan. You’re earlier than I expected.”

To my surprise, Stephan stands as well, turning crisply on a heel to face Morgan.

“Hood Morgan. Stand down; I have already taken Dresden into my custody.” Morgan visibly doubletakes when he registers Stephan, his face going a little ashen; I can’t help my eyebrows rising. Well, that wasn't a reaction I was expecting.

“P-Patriarch Kingston--I apologize. I did not realize that you had already arrived in the city.” Morgan looks like a kid caught doing something he’s already been scolded for, all but hiding the tracking spell behind his back as he straightens and tries for a neutral expression. Stephan watches him squirm with some serious detachment and an extra-large helping of almost-arrogant authority, arms folded neatly behind him.

“Indeed. I apologize for the inconvenience. However, as I am here, I will be conducting my independent investigation promptly. I suggest you begin upon yours as well, so that we may reach the most-truthful transcription of events as expediently as possible.” Morgan ducks his head and mumbles something affirmative; Stephan turns a little towards me and continues. “Dresden, collect your things and pay your tab. We’re departing.”

“Uh--right, okay.” I start shoveling the dismantled case packets back together, then jog to the bar to pay Mac, collecting my paperwork and walking staff when I return to the table; I fall into step behind Stephan as he starts up the stairs, resisting the urge to look behind me.

“Until then, Hood Morgan,” Stephan calls out. “You know how to contact me.”

And then the door shuts after us, and I heave a sigh of relief.

“Thanks. Finding the kids would have been kinda hard with Morgan tailing me everywhere. Not to mention working on locating the Three Eye distributor.”

Stephan makes a two-note noise of noncommittal neutrality. “It was a fortunate secondary effect.” He gestures for me to follow him down the sidewalk. “Now; since I have allowed you to continue upon your extraneous search for the children, it only seems fair to repay me with a similar favor.”

“Um--”

As if he can sense my unwillingness (okay, my complete and utter desire to not be involved with this creepy-strong little guy and his creepy-involved organization any further), Stephan fixes an eye on me, hitting me with the full force of his dry, disapproving stare. Yikes. “It’s not a grand task. I had another purpose for coming to Chicago myself; there’s a smalltime practitioner, a Miss Delaney, who wishes to be tutored in the activation and empowerment of a greater summoning circle. I merely request that you go in my place so that I may begin tracking down the source of the Three Eye.”

Oh. “And the summoning circle is for…?”

“The client who brought the matter to ADI’s attention. Ask him yourself when you get there if you want to know more.”

“The address?”

Stephan and I stop at the mouth of an alley; he fishes a fountain pen out of his breast pocket, hands it to me, and unceremoniously rattles off the address of a place in the Gold Coast just like that, which I scribble in the margin of the first printout I’m holding.

“That is the client’s address; the appointment is at seven tonight. I will call you at nine to confirm how the tutorial went.” He pauses. “And Dresden--tread with a _bit_ of caution while you’re there. It can be a den of wolves.”

I can’t help but grin at him as I hand back his pen. “Wolves I can handle.”

“Hmm.” He studies my face for a second, then lifts his shoulders in a microscopic shrug. “I suppose so. Very well. Until then, Mister Dresden.”

He turns, steps into the mouth of the alley, and draws a neat line straight down through the air before him with two fingers, slicing through the fabric between worlds to the Woods; I stifle my surprise. I hadn’t felt the possibility of a Way there, and the tract revealed by the portal is different from any I’ve seen in John’s territory, the trunks of the trees shining silvery in the moonlight and moss covering the ground.

A sudden thought seizes me, and my mouth moves before my brain catches up: “Stephan--”

He pauses at the mouth of the portal. “Yes, Mister Dresden?”

Well, at least he doesn’t _sound_ pissed. “What are the people who use magic but aren’t Hoods called?”

His back stiffens, and I involuntarily brace myself for the worst, but the bit of his face that I can see when he looks back at me over his shoulder is amused, a hint of a grin playing around the corner of his mouth. He looks… satisfied, as if I’d exceeded his expectations.

“Wizards, Mister Dresden.”

And with that, he steps through; I see silvery-white fur and a looming sweep of antlers blossom into existence an instant before the Way closes like it never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the concept of 'wizard' is introduced into Harry's vocabulary! Stephan won't be appearing in person again for a bit, but there's some backstory information for him in the next chapter that sort of further clarifies (hopefully!) what he is. ADI is a big part of this universe as it mostly occupies the space that the White Council does in Files canon, so Harry will be dealing with them a lot in the future.


End file.
